


ABC

by Mathais



Category: Glee
Genre: Bisexuality, F/M, M/M, Racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mathais/pseuds/Mathais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an ABC is hard. Being a bisexual ABC in Lima, Ohio is even harder. Mike deals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and elements of Glee; I'm just here to play.
> 
> Notes: While there is a faint chronological order to some of the sections, the story overall isn't; most of it is just snippets.

For as long as he could remember, he was different.

Mike was Chinese in a town where Asians were not just a minority but almost nonexistent.

He was a bisexual Buddhist in a primarily Christian and Jewish Midwestern town.

Sometimes, Mike wondered what life would have been like if he'd lived in a place where there were more people like him or more accepting of people like him.

Then he slapped himself in the face and went back to work.


	2. Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping that by posting this, I can get some more inspiration for the other four chapters.

  
_Sight_   


Mike once tried to tape the corners of his eyes flat.

His mom nearly slapped him after she found him in the bathroom in front of the mirror with the intent of making his eyes look like everyone else's.

She sat him in his room and asked what was wrong.

Mike was sick of being teased. He was sick of people pulling their eyelids up and down, mocking him with their normalness. He was sick of being different.

His mom told him in no uncertain terms that he was better than that. That he was Asian, so he had different eyes—so what? It was who he was.

It took a while for Mike to accept it. He hated looking at mirrors and seeing someone looked different from everyone else—whose _differences_ brought attention.

But eventually he grew to not care... And then he grew to be proud of how he looked.

Mike decided that he liked his eyes.

  


  
**OoOoO**   


  


He learned his passion for dance from music videos. He was enthralled with them from an early age and spent many hours burning them into his memory.

On an old and battered VCR, he played and replayed everything he could find and mimic. He spent so long glued to the screen, trying his best to get the right spin down or the right twist. He learned to bend his body in ways he didn't know he could or to pull off moves that would have left others in awe if he ever danced outside of his room.

The dancers on that screen were everything he wished he could be.

Graceful. Proud. Evocative.

They could tell a story with their body. The twist of the hips or turn of the head had different meanings depending on the context; Mike learned all he could about the words and how to say them. He learned about raw emotion and passion and how to convey it with the flick of his hips.

One day, Matt showed up in his room and displayed his own knowledge of movement. Mike looked at Matt, and with a nod of the head, the two of them turned to the TV, no words needed.

People often wondered why he and Matt rarely spoke.

They did; just not with their mouths.

When a tilt of the head or the shrug of the shoulder said just as much, why bother?

  


  
**OoOoO**   


  


Mike had always vaguely noticed Kurt Hummel as someone confident and attractive, but so were many of the guys and girls in Lima. Sure, there was a chance that Kurt was gay, but Mike didn't judge and since he'd never _confirmed_ , he settled for just watching Kurt from the corner of his eye much in the same way he did anyone else. It wasn't good to draw attention to himself and his careful invisibility.

He'd worked so hard to be treated as normal that, for all of his differences, he blended into the crowd. He didn't want to make waves by giving a hint that he was anything other than straight.

Not in Lima, Ohio.

It was apparently bad enough that he was Chinese.

And then Kurt strolled onto the football field and kicked a field goal, and Mike's attention was successfully caught.

The way that Kurt walked down the halls, the soft swish of his hips, the firm steps with immaculate shoes—Mike watched all these and more. Hell, the way that Kurt wiggled about doing the "Single Ladies" dance, taking to the stage like he owned it, fueled Mike's desire and more.

Matt looked at him, said, " _Dude_ ," and clapped him on the shoulder, but he understood.

He chose Glee over football, not just because Glee was honestly a hell of a lot of fun, but also because Kurt was there.

Kurt made him want to be seen again.

  


  
**OoOoO**   


  


Mike screwed up his courage and walked up to Kurt after Glee.

He asked Kurt to stay behind after Glee to help critique a dance routine with possible Regionals applications. Kurt gave him a skeptical look, but he obviously remembered the It's My Life/Confessions performance because he readily agreed.

The jazz band was already gone, but Mike didn't mind. He wanted this performance to be private anyway.

Mike put on a slow love ballad on his iPod. It took a few moments, but the song reverberated through him. It reached into his body, pulling at his chest, and he began to move—Kurt's eyes on him the entire time.

 _"I admire you,"_ he said with the wave of his arm. _"You are strong."_

 _"You do not back down from who you are,"_ was found in the cock of his hips, in the back glance over his shoulder.

Mike put, _"You make me feel confident in who I am,"_ in the up sway of his arms and his firm back.

 _"I like you."_

The entirety of his message, engraved in every step, every turn, every bow.

Once his dance was complete and Mike stood in the center of the room, eyes fluttering closed, Kurt looked pensive. Mike hoped that none of his apprehension could be found in his face, but his heart beat so hard in his chest that for a second Mike thought Kurt could see it through his shirt.

Finally, Kurt said, "Mike, I didn't know you can dance like that."

Hope soared through him. "Do you—"

"But I don't think it would work as a dance for Regionals. Finn can't move like that. And, no offense, I'm not sure you can do a romantic solo. I'm sure you're a fine singer and all," Kurt hastily added, "but—"

"I understand," Mike cut him off.

He understood _perfectly_.

"But it was very good. I think we need to use your choreography skills a lot more." Kurt offered him a tentative smile. "You really got the song's message across."

But not enough. "Thanks," Mike said distantly.

"Is that all?"

"It's fine. See you tomorrow, Kurt."

"Bye."

Kurt stood and left, with Mike still standing in the center of the room. Not a minute later, Matt entered and took one look at him.

"Sorry, man," he said, pulling Mike into a hug.

With only Matt in the room and no one else, with Matt's comforting and nonjudgmental arm around him, Mike's walls crumpled. He turned and buried his face in Matt's shoulder.

Kurt didn't understand.

He didn't understand that Mike's dance was for him. That the only way he could say how he felt was with the movement of his body. That Mike had just bared his soul to him in his dance, every bit crafted with Kurt in mind...

...and Kurt just rejected him, the entirety of who Mike was.

Mike tried to hide the tears from sight, and Matt tried to pretend he didn't see them, but they both knew they existed.

Mike cursed the invisibility he tried so hard to cultivate.

  


  
**OoOoO**   


  


He didn't know what Matt did to Kurt afterward, but Mike turned a blind eye to it as he nursed his broken heart.

  


  
**OoOoO**   


  


"How..." Mike stuttered and trailed off. He paused again, and bolstered by Tina's gentle gaze, continued, "How can you look at me like that?"

"Because you're worth it," Tina said.

"But people don't see me."

"You're not as invisible as you try to be." Tina leaned in and, unable to help herself, brushed her fingers along his cheeks. "Not to me, not to the people who matter."

Mike was quiet.

"I tried to hard not to be seen."

"Because being seen isn't always the best thing," Tina finished for him. "I know. I know."

"I'm not... I'm not like Finn or Sam or Kurt... I can't sing, and I'm not... I'm not used to..." Mike couldn't find the words. All he was aware of was Tina's gaze on _him_.

"You're Mike," she said firmly. "You're special."

"I'm not. I'm just Mike."

"And that's why you're special. Because you're Mike. When I see you, I can see so much."

"People never liked looking at me," Mike confessed. "I had to..."

"I understand. But, Mike, you need to understand that I see you. I understand you. And I'm not looking away."

"I didn't like it when people looked at me," he said, a wobbly smile on his face. "I was never good enough. But when you look at me, I'm happy."

Tina blushed. "Mike..."

"Thank you."

He kissed her on the nose.


	3. Sound

  
_Sound_   


Languages never came easily for him.

Mike knew the tittering that came from his relatives whenever he spoke his halting, flawed Cantonese. His vocabulary and grammar were no better than a grade-schooler at times, but still he struggled.

Sometimes, during the night, he curled up against an old Walkman and played tapes. He repeated each sentence that came out, first with his eyes open and staring down at the little translation notes he made, and then with his eyes closed.

Eyes open.

Repeat.

Eyes closed.

Repeat.

Which tone was which again? Did it have the rise? How high did he have to rise again? Or was it supposed to fall?

Eyes open and read. Learn the syllables, learn the tones.

Eyes closed and speak. Ignore the way his aunts turned away and spoke behind their hands.

Eyes open and read. Rise, fall, stable.

Eyes closed and speak. Just because he couldn't speak didn't mean he couldn't listen.

  
**OoOoO**   


Mike grew up to the words _Ching Chong Chink_ chanted in his ears, to _Jook-sing_ being fake-whispered behind hands.

He'd been told to go back to China far too many times to count, while similarly being told that he should stay in America.

Every single variation that a child's cruel mind could come up had been shouted at him. Chinaman. Chinky. Vague approximations of Chinese sounds and outright gibberish. He'd also been called a Twinkie, a faker, a poser.

Hell, the older crowd sometimes called him a damn Jap or Charlie.

Even people who didn't resort to names often spoke to him as if he were too stupid to speak. Every year, he had to deal with a teacher taking one look at his name and automatically talking slower, louder, until he explained succinctly that he spoke and understood English perfectly well.

The last time someone did that back in middle school, Mike nearly punched her, and he was far from a violent person.

Afterward, he decided to not try anymore and let the teachers make their assumptions about him.

He also decided it was too much effort to tell people that, even though he couldn't speak it well, he could understand what they were saying about him in Cantonese. He got into a brawl with one of his Hong Kong cousins when one of them visited America, and it wasn't worth being called a low class barbaric American or having his parents yell at him.

Mike may have been Chinese, but he was still American, and while he may have been American, he was still Chinese.

Why couldn't people see that?

Why couldn't they let him be both?

  
**OoOoO**   


Mike was miserable at Asian camp. All of the kids seemed to cluster into groups based on their ethnicity.

Mike thought he was the only ABC there. The only one who couldn't really speak a language other than English. And though he promised himself he wouldn't cry, he still hid himself in the building's corners whenever he could.

He was hiding in one such corner now, having run off when the other kids ignored any of his attempts at conversation because he didn't know how to reply in Cantonese.

Mike pulled out a battered Walkman and began to play his tapes. Huddled against the wall with his knees to his chest, he whispered each line, voice nearly breathless with the effort to hold back tears.

This sucked.

Why was he even here?

" _M'goi nei bong ngo jau ngo de gong fo?_ "

"I think that is supposed to be _zou_."

Mike startled and nearly fumbled his Walkman when a high voice piped up from above him. Hastily making sure that his tears weren't visible, he looked up and asked, "Huh?"

A tiny Asian boy with a stern face stood above him, arms crossed. "I believe you are trying to ask if someone can help you with your homework. 'Doing homework' is _zou gong fo_."

When Mike stood up, still clutching his precious Walkman, he found that he was nearly half a foot taller than the other boy. Still wary, however, Mike asked, "Really?"

"That is what my mother said anyway," the boy said. "You have trouble with Cantonese too, right?"

Mike nodded, words locked in his throat, because this was almost too good to be true.

"I see what the other kids sometimes do. I want to help."

He opened his mouth to ask why, but what came out instead, with a rush of realization, was, "Too?"

The boy didn't quite lose his haughty stance, but he did flush a little.

Mike thought it was kind of cute.

The boy crossed his arms further and huffed. "I may have some trouble with Cantonese as well."

A brilliant smile crossed Mike's face. "I'd like that. I'm Mike."

The smile that answered him was no less bright. "Wesley, but please call me Wes."

  
**OoOoO**   


Mike watched Cantonese dramas with his mother whenever he could. Curled up against the couch, he let the comforting sounds wash over him and tried his best to learn from them.

His mom had patience. Even though he had to ask her what was happening every so often and for her to explain a word or phrase he didn't get or a reference he missed, she answered whatever she could.

His mom never yelled at him when he didn't understand what was going on. She was never angry with him over his tenuous grasp of Cantonese and only took joy in his attempts to learn. She joked a bit that she'd send him over to Hong Kong one day to meet relatives without any help and laughed at his stricken expression. It was here that she was at her softest, most open.

Some of Mike's best memories were of just sitting around the house, listening to his dad cooking in the kitchen and whistling off tune while he and his mom watched dramas and his siblings ran around laughing and playing games. He sort of wished it could last forever.

  
**OoOoO**   


Unfortunately, much of the love in his house was contingent on its silences and shadows. Anything that could bring shame to them was carefully locked away in their hearts and never spoken of. Anything that deviated from the norm became hidden, and any suspicions were unvoiced.

As long as it was never spoken of and never asked for, it was fine.

Mike locked quite a few of his own secrets in his heart.

His room was his safe haven, the only place where he could even speak of what he kept to himself. It was one of the few places he could be himself in his entirety.

That was why he always invited Matt up into his room whenever he came over. It had a battered TV, game systems, and his computer with internet access—all things a couple of teenage boys could use to amuse themselves.

Amid the sounds of gunfire, Mike could be as vulgar as he wanted. Every bit of locker room humor he could say without cringing or looking over his shoulder. He didn't have to constantly check what he said.

Amid those very same sounds of gunfire, Mike could gave voice to what he tried not to.

"So, you and Hummel today," Matt said as they crept through a minefield. "Why didn't you sit next to him?"

Mike flinched. "Ergh. He was too busy staring at Finn."

"Which would have been the perfect time to get close while he was distracted!" Matt insisted.

"And he wouldn't have noticed me at all."

"Idiot," Matt proclaimed. "If you don't do anything, of course he's not going to notice you!"

"And how about you and Santana?"

Matt shot Mike a dark look. "You know if I mess around with her, Puck'll murder me!"

"Sorry, sorry," Mike grinned. "But you know you can take him."

Matt puffed out his chest proudly, but his silent glance acknowledged the words, _with you at my back_ , between them.

After their exchange, the only sounds were their characters rustling through the underbrush as gunfire periodically peppered through the area.

"I still think you should tap it," Matt said.

Mike responded by not-so-accidentally walking into a landmine and blowing them both up. Matt's curses were music to his ears.

  
**OoOoO**   


When word filtered in through to Mike about Kurt's comments to Blaine during the whole alcohol fiasco, Mike couldn't help the burning disappointment.

Kurt had rejected him. Again.

Had rejected his entire existence, had mitigated all of his struggles.

To have _Kurt_ say that about him was too much for Mike to bear.

Wes let him into Dalton. After all, it was Wes's scathing rant that brought it to his attention, and the only thing that prevented Wes from acting on the rare impulse to rip someone to shreds was Mike's repeated assurance that he would take care of it.

"I still think you should let me at him," Wes murmured as he led Mike to Kurt's room.

Mike smiled fondly at him and used his height advantage to rub the top of Wes's head. Like petting a bristling cat in the right way, it calmed Wes down. It helped calm Mike too, because he was about to do something that felt absurdly major to him, and he wasn't sure if he could get the words out right. "He needs to hear it from me. No offense, but he wouldn't understand it from you."

The tension on Wes's face loosened a little. "None taken. I have not been much fun around to be around, as David can attest to."

"Are you sure it isn't because you're being too serious again?" Mike teased and poked Wes in the middle of his eyes. He laughed when Wes's face scrunched up with an irritated but fond twitch.

"It is just... The way he said it, and then all I could think of is you, and..." Frustration was building again. Mike rubbed the top of Wes's head once more, threading his fingers through the soft and familiar strands of hair.

"It's all right."

Wes abruptly stopped and turned so that he was looking Mike straight in the face. Wes's eyes were large and pleading as he said, "Mike, you know that if I were... If I was even a little bit, I would..."

"Wesley," Mike said softly, and Wes stilled. "I know. I know. And that's enough."

"I'm sorry I could not be."

"Wesley, it's all right."

As he turned away, Wes grumbled, "You are the only one who can get away with calling me that."

Mike laughed quietly, even as he noticed that Wes's hand dropped to grasp his. He drew strength from the small gesture, returning it with a brief increase in grip. Neither spoke as they finally approached Kurt's room. Wes gave Mike's hand one final squeeze before he knocked on the door, calling out, "You have a visitor, Kurt."

Kurt was unfortunately already on the defensive as he hesitantly opened the door. Mike attributed it to the fact that Wes could project menace like whoa when he wanted to. "Yes...? Mike!"

"Kurt," Mike nodded. "Can we talk?"

Kurt's eyes flickered back into the room, where Mike could see another boy lounging on a bed. "I'm sort of—"

"—Blaine," Wes cut in smoothly. "I have business to discuss with you at the moment. Can you come with me?" Wes's tone was perfectly level, and yet it held the trace of authority that showed why he so flourished as head of the Warbler's Council. The boy, who Mike now recognized as Blaine, one of Wes's best Dalton friends as well as openly gay, nearly fell off the bed at what was essentially an order. He eventually complied, and on the way out, Wes gave Mike a sideways glance and nod.

Mike took comfort in it as Kurt invited him in.

It took a few minutes of awkward catching up before Kurt cut to the chase. "I know that this isn't just a visit out of the blue, Mike. What's up?"

Mike breathed in deeply to steady himself. With Kurt looking at him like that, with him focusing his entire attention... At one point, Mike would have wished the world for it. But now, he realized he was past it. And he had to do what he had to do. "I heard about what you said to Blaine. About bisexuals."

"From whom?" Kurt snapped.

"You know Blaine tells Wes pretty much everything, and I've been friends with Wes for years." Mike paused and shifted his hands so that they were now in his lap, intertwined so Kurt couldn't tell how much they shook. "He called me after Blaine told him."

"Mike..."

Before his courage could fail him, Mike let loose. "Did you really say that bisexuality is something only gay guys use when they want to pretend to be straight?"

He immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say when Kurt's walls snapped up immediately. "Well, isn't it? Either you like guys or you like girls, otherwise you're just kidding yourself."

Simply and succinctly, Mike said, "I'm bisexual."

Kurt's immediate response was to scoff. "You've never shown interest in guys before, and you're dating Tina." His eyes narrowed into a glare. "Unless you're just using Tina as a beard and not even telling—"

"—I'm _not_ ," Mike interrupted in the sharpest voice he'd ever used, almost surprised at its intensity. But Kurt was attacking his relationship with Tina, and Mike refused to let that slide. "I am _not_ using Tina. I honestly like her."

"Then how can you say you're bisexual?" Kurt demanded. "You're dating a girl! How can you say that? Why would you even say that?"

"Because it's true," Mike retorted. "I like guys and I like girls, pretty much equally. By definition, that makes me a bisexual."

"And I think you need a reality check," Kurt said. "If you like girls, there's no use acting like you can be attracted to guys. And if you like guys, you need to stop lying yourself that you can do otherwise. Just because you think you can avoid all the issues about being gay by pretending—"

Mike's temper flared and the sarcasm that Wes taught him came to the forefront. "Wow, Kurt, I never thought I could hear something so _ignorant_ from a member of the LG **B** T community."

Kurt froze at Mike's emphasis, which gave Mike the bolstering he needed to continue.

"Kurt, I think it's you who need a reality check. I'm bisexual. We _exist_. People **can** be attracted to both guys and girls. We have as much of a problem coming out of the closet as any gay person. Sometimes, we can have it worse because we have don't have support from straights or gays. They see us as other, as different." Mike lowered his eyes to his lap. "Even you, someone who knows full well what it's like to be considered other for his sexuality, doesn't accept the fact that bisexuality can be as normal as someone who's gay or straight. How is that any different that a straight person refusing to accept that being gay is all right?"

"It's not..." Mike trailed off, having said all the words he could. "It's just not right..."

His blood pounded in his ears. He didn't look up to see the expression on Kurt's face. His world centered on his hands, his fingers, because only now was what he was saying actually computing.

This was the first time he'd ever actually told someone he was bisexual; everyone else had discovered it on their own. The sheer enormity of it was now suffocating him.

But the cause. The cause that made him speak, that made him to voice to what had been churning in him for so long, that cause was right.

If Mike couldn't speak up now, when could he?

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Kurt gently saying his name. When he looked up, Kurt was far less defensive than he was before, and Mike thought he could see a little remorse in those usually guarded eyes.

"Mike, I always thought that I was more open-minded simply because of who I am. It pains me when it's pointed out that I've only brushed the surface. I've been uncomfortable about my sexuality for so long that when I see... When I see someone who I think doesn't have to deal with what I went through, I guess I let it get to me." Kurt took a deep, calming breath. "I've come to the startling realization that this is what someone who's homophobic must feel like, and it disgusts me that I can I even compare myself to them."

"You've given me a lot to think about," he continued, "but I know I can move past it. And I'm sorry about what I said. I was hurting, but that doesn't excuse..."

"I understand," Mike broke in softly. "I understand."

The two fell into an emotional silence as they dealt with paradigm shifts—Kurt, realizing he had boundaries he still needed to push past, and Mike, dealing with finally being proactive about his sexuality rather than passive.

"It's just... Mike, you're usually not the most confrontational. What brought this about?" Kurt questioned.

This answer came easily. "Because this is too important to keep quiet."

Mike said this with all of his conviction, and he smiled when Kurt nodded in understanding.


	4. Taste

_Taste_

 

The first time his container of leftover rice and vegetables ended up overturned on the ground, Mike cried and went hungry.

The second, third, and fourth times, he tried to hide in the corner of the lunch room to eat in peace, but they followed him anyway.

The fifth time, Mike asked for lunch money instead.  His mother gave him a disappointed look and told him to take the rice, but Mike refused.  His stubbornness earned him a slap on the hand, but the next day Mike got up early and made himself a sandwich.

Bread and ham tasted like ash in his mouth, but he choked it down every day.  He was left alone after that.

**OoOoO**

Dim sum always made him smile.

He tore through the _haa gaau_ and _siu maai_ and inhaled the _ngau coeng_ and pieces of _lo baak gou_ as fast as propriety allowed.  He sipped his sweet _guk faa chaa_ and made sure to pour tea for his family too, and he was always rewarded with his relatives piling more food onto his plate, who all but demanded that he take some more _ngau pak yip_ and he liked _paai gwat_ didn't he, and he was a growing boy, so doesn't he want another _lo mai gai_?

All of the flavors, light and heavy, mixed in his mouth and lingered long after the meal ended.  When he closed his eyes, he could make out the individual tastes for everything.  He wasn't picky at all; he even ate the _dou fu fa_ when he all but hated tofu in any other form save fried.

It was such a rare treat to go to an actual dim sum restaurant, with the unabashed conversation and gossip, the carts and dim sum ladies shouting out their wares, the clicking of chopsticks and cups, the dropped food and spills that would get them killed at any other restaurant but were just part of dim sum life.

He had to savor every bit of it, because the dim sum in Lima?

It paled in comparison.

Mike couldn't begin to list all the things wrong with Lima's dim sum, including the chicken feet salad ordered out of morbid curiosity and the fact that it continued serving late enough for dinner.

He had to admit that the chicken feet was decent, and the steamed pork buns weren't too bad either, but the waitress he had to order from gave him such a blank look when he asked if they had tripe or water chestnut cake.

(The less said about the spare ribs, the better.)

Despite all of its failings, the dim sum place was the best Chinese place in town, so Mike continued to go there.

Mike just wished there was a better example of Chinese cuisine.

**OoOoO**

Mike once showed up to a class bake sale carrying the _dan taat_ his mom helped him make after much pleading.  The other families took one look at his offering, the eighteen beautifully browned and slightly misshapen crusts with the bright yellow centers of egg custard, and they tittered to each other.  They ended up regulated off to the side, but Mike was hopeful.  He bounced cheerfully throughout the day, sure that they'd get sold, that everyone would finally see how good it was.

When he came back at the end of the day, there were seventeen egg custards waiting for him.  The eighteenth, he saw being eaten and spit out right in front of him, after which the man complained about some weird China shit on the table.

He quickly gathered the leftovers and raced away.  Mike was crying too hard to see past his tears, but he ended up in the park, hands full of cold pastries.  He took the first tray of _dan taat_ and smashed it against the ground, too ashamed to it bring back home.

As he was about to do the same with the second, a boy nearby spoke up and asked, "Why are you wasting food like that?"

"Because no one likes what I made," Mike sniffed.  It was stupid, but he'd worked so hard on them, and he just wanted...

"Wow, you made them?  Cool!" The boy bounced up to him. "Hey, you're from Ms. Moran's class, right?  Can I have one?"

Mike silently held out what remained.  He took one and gave it a tentative bite.  Mike was astounded when the boy's eyes lit up and he crammed the rest of it in his mouth. "Ish so good!" he mumbled around the mouthful, hands already reaching for more. "You should eat some too!"

Mike watched as the boy devoured another three of them, and then he picked one up himself.  As he fit into the pastry, cold and a little hard but still sweet and flaky, Mike could only think, _"Yeah, it's good."_

"They're better warm," he found himself saying.

He would later swear that the boy's eyes actually sparkled. "Oh man, these get better?  You have to give me some next time!"

Mike grinned outright. "Totally."

"The name's Matt Rutherford!" The boy stuck out a crumb-filled hand. "Nice to meet you!"

"Mike Chang." He returned the handshake with a bright smile on his face.

The two of them ate the rest of the _dan taat_ right then and there, and Mike would forever bribe Matt with them and more over the course of their friendship.

**OoOoO**

His first kiss tasted of chocolate chip cookies.

Huddled in a corner of the camp, eating snacks as they practiced their Cantonese, Mike was distracted by the way Wes's lips formed the sounds and phrases which had so eluded him.  Without even realizing it, he found himself leaning forward and attaching himself to Wes's.  He remembered vaguely that kisses had something to do with tongues, and so he slipped his tongue into Wes's mouth and tasted the chocolate chip cookies they both had had.

Wes's lips were warm, and Mike was getting into the kiss when he realized that Wes wasn't really responding.  Opening his eyes (when had he closed them?), he found Wes looking at him with an unreadable gaze.

And Mike realized with dawning horror that he had just kissed his friend.

One of his _best_ friends.

Who was a _boy_.

He squeaked and dropped the remains of his cookie.  Before he could even think, Mike was on his feet, babbling something incoherent and retreating as quick as possible.  He breathing sped as he ran as fast as he could.

He had just kissed Wes.

He had just kissed Wes.

And then he stumbled, losing every bit of his natural dancer's grace and landing in a corner, where he continued to cry.

He'd just ruined everything.  Now, Wes would hate him too and leave him alone and then there wouldn't be anyone—

—anyone to hold him.

Like Wes was doing right now.

Through the tears and the snot, Mike looked up, but he already knew it was Wes.  After all this time, he always remembered Wes's hands around him.

"I am sorry, Mike," were Wes's simple words, but he didn't move.

Wes still held him.

"You're...  You're not mad?" Mike hiccupped.

"I am not mad.  I...  I do not think I can return your feelings, but we can still be friends, right?" Wes's face was drawn tight with emotion.  Mike could see the guilt weighing him down.

"Yeah, friends," whispered Mike.  Wes didn't object when Mike gave him a kiss on the cheek; he only went a little pink to match the tint crossing Mike's cheeks.

Mike would always associate chocolate chip cookies with Wes and his first kiss.

**OoOoO**

Mike worked his ass off, because this had to be perfect.  It had to be everything it could be.

Mike would not settle for less.

He mixed the ingredients, fluttering from recipe to recipe in shifts.  He drafted his little brother and sister for as long as he could until they mutinied and stole some of the filling, forcing him to banish them with a spatula waved like a scepter.  His mom and dad flittered in alternatively, sometimes helping him mold or pack something, other times simply grabbing something out of the fridge.

When it was all done, Mike carefully packed away the picnic basket and got ready.  He was sweaty and a little tired, but it was done, and it was with him humming that he met Matt at the park.  Neither spoke as Matt spread a large blanket, and Mike began pulling dishes out.

And then they tucked out, talking all the while.

Over savory pork and chicken buns, they went over the latest music videos and dissected the dance movements in each.

Tucking into the pork fried rice, Mike related the last Glee gossip he heard even over the summer—the constant relationship fluctuations made his head spin, but it was so much fun to gossip.

Matt began predicting the future of the Glee club as they ate a spicy noodle dish with peanuts, with each dueling over the spicy mushroom side dish in the middle.  Mike picked clean the bok choy and ceded the stir-fry eggplant and cucumber to Matt as they fought over who would end up with whom.

They split the fried water chestnut cake and the steamed turnip cake when they began drifting into the past year and all the changes that happened.

Filled to the brim with good food, the two of them lay back on the blanket and watched the clouds pass by.

Mike broke the silence. "I'm going to miss you, Matt."

A cloud passed over the sun, briefly blocking it out.

"I'm going to miss you too," said Matt softly. "I wish I didn't have to move."

More silence.

"I'll come visit you next summer, or you can come visit us," Mike said.

"I promise," Matt said, and Mike smiled.  Matt always kept his promises—always.

They bumped fists, and all was right.

Mike, well aware of his full belly, still sat up and grinned. "I have one last thing."

Matt hummed and turned over, interest sparking in his eyes.

Mike pulled out a tray of _dan taat_.

Matt grinned.

Together, the two of them tore through the pastries.  Mike laughed as Matt double-fisted his food, and Matt playfully elbowed him in the side, causing Mike to spew out crumbs in his laughter.

Even years afterward when Mike caught a whiff of mouth-watering egg custard, he thought of Matt and pulled out his phone to text him a simple, "What's up?"

And he always got a reply.

**OoOoO**

Mike's mouth felt like he'd been chewing on fuzzy socks.

Mike knew what fuzzy socks tasted like, because of an incident which had maybe happened when he and Matt were seven, not that there was anyone who would confirm anything.  He vaguely wondered where he was, and then he groaned when the familiar pains of a hangover made its way through his head.

Fuck alcohol; he didn't think New Directions had it in them (fellow football players and Cheerios notwithstanding).

And then he grabbed his cell phone and froze at Tina's message.

_We need to talk.  Meet me after Glee today._

Fuck, what happened?

Head pounding, Mike began exchanging horrified texts with Matt, beginning with, _I think I fucked up,_ and ending with Matt's, _Man up and talk to her._

He warded off his mom's concern at his headache and drank the resulting tea (he made a mental note to make a crack about panda hair tea at some point before realizing that the one left who would realize that what he was saying was actually sort of racist and thus appreciate the humor was Tina and his mind shut down) before suffering through the group's Blame It (On the Alcohol) rendition.

Fun fact: When Mike had a headache, he was pissier than normal.

Fun fact 2: The amount of people who actually knew that fact was very limited.

So, he ducked out of most interactions with anyone during the day, only getting a clap on the shoulder from a vaguely sympathetic Sam at some point.  As his head pounded and the taste of night of alcohol still lingered even after all of the mouthwash, Mike waited for Tina outside of the Glee clubroom.

Mike had become very good at burying his emotions inside, but even now the pit of dread in his stomach was growing, gnawing at his already upset stomach.  He fiddled with his phone the entire time—a nervous habit resulting from his inability to keep still.

A hand on his shoulder caused him to flinch.  When he looked to the side, he saw Tina's expression, neutral but not unkind. "Do you want to head somewhere... quiet to speak?"

Mike's heart thumped.  His throat was dry as he croaked, "There's a coffee shop.  Not the Lima Bean, but..." he rattled off a name.

A small smile quirked the edge of Tina's mouth. "Sounds great."

The two of them first stopped off at Mike's place to get his mom's car (because Mike wasn't stupid enough to try driving with the hangover he had), and soon they were off.  Neither spoke the entire ride, with Mike staring straight ahead.  When he chanced a glance at Tina, he saw a pensive look on her face that he didn't want to dig too deeply into.  Mike pulled into a small parking lot, and the two disembarked.  He offered Tina a hand and tried his best to not look relieved when she took it without hesitation.

Inside of the coffee shop he and Matt used to frequent, he ordered himself a strong coffee and Tina, a tea which he knew she preferred.  After grabbing their orders, Mike directed Tina to a relatively secluded table and sat down.

They did nothing bit sip at their drinks for a bit.  Mike couldn't keep himself from shaking, but the coffee did calm him some.  The bitter flavor helped wash away any remnants of the night before, and when he looked up, he found Tina's eyes a little soft around the edges.

"Mike, yesterday, you said something." Tina fiddled with the rim of her cup, but her voice was steady.

Mike didn't know his stomach could drop lower, but there it went. "I, I don't remember."

"Mike, I want you to be stra—I mean, I just want the truth." Heart leaping into his throat, Mike clenched his cup harder.  Oh, god, oh god. "You said something about Kurt last night, about how you wanted to... taste his lips." She set her cup down with the precise click of glass, which sounded just like his world shattering. "Mike, are you—"

"I'm bi," Mike broke her off, looking down at the murky depths of his coffee. "Pretty much down the middle, but..."

"Oh," Tina said softly.  She was quiet for a bit before asking, "Does anyone else...?"

"Matt, Wes," Mike said.  He looked up, right into her eyes even though he felt his spine quiver. "You."

There was another faint, "Oh." Tina looked straight at him, and then her eyes softened. "Not Kurt?"

Unwillingly, Mike snorted.  Tina's eyebrows rose, and then her face twisted with the sudden flash of comprehension and, for just a faint moment, pity. "Is that why Matt did that thing last year?"

"Yeah," he said without elaboration.

"It's not a problem," Tina asserted and reached out for his hand.  Mike willingly gave it to her, and she began rubbing circles into his skin. "I mean, **Kurt** is one of my best friends, so it was never going to be a problem, as long as it didn't turn out that you were gay and using me."

"No, definitely bi," Mike said. "I just...  I never wanted to stand out, and then coming out as bi would have made me..." He ran out of steam, but Tina's knowing nod showed she understood.

"Kurt made me want to try, but...  I have you Tina, and that's worth so much more.  I may be bi, but I love _you_ ," Mike said softly, staring straight into Tina's eyes, with all of her warmth and understanding and everything that shone so brightly.

It was the first time he'd ever said that, and by Tina's sharp intake of breath, it took her by as much surprise at it did him.  But, heart beating fiercely in his chest, he meant every word.

Mike wanted to be strong.

Overcome, Tina leaned forward and kissed him.

Mike tasted coffee and tea and mint and _Tina_ and...

It was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the untranslated dishes:
> 
> [1] [Haa Gau](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Har_gow): Shrimp dumplings  
> [2] [Siu Maai](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shumai): Pork dumplings  
> [3] [Ngau Coeng](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rice_noodle_roll): Rice noodle rolls with beef inside  
> [4] [Lo Baak Gou](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turnip_cake): Turnip cake  
> [5] [Guk Faa Chaa](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chrysanthemum%20tea): Chrysanthemum tea  
> [6] [Ngau Pak Yip](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Niubaiye.jpg): Beef tripe  
> [7] [Paai Gwat](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spare_ribs): Spare ribs  
> [8] [Lo Mai Gai](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lo_mai_gai): Steamed sticky rice with chicken in lotus leaf wrap  
> [9] [Dou Fu Fa](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douhua): Tofu pudding  
> [10] [Dan tat](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dan_tat): Egg custard tart


End file.
